conversations we never had
by Cath1
Summary: Conversations that they never had in words [Ryan, Kirsten] Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

Title: conversations we never had

Author: Cath

Disclaimer: Characters, etc, do not belong to me.

Summary: conversations that they never had in words (Ryan/Kirsten)

Spoilers: Series one: The Gamble

Notes: I always really enjoyed watching the interaction between Ryan and Kirsten, but there was never enough to satisfy me. So I started mulling over a few ideas and unfortunately they were adamant that they would be written. I apologise for this.

Reviews are always gratefully received.

I have plans for another four scenes/ficlets, so let me know if you're interested in reading more.

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Who has words at the right moment?  
**Charlotte Bronte**

---

They are, neither of them, people of many words. The words they do have are usually carefully chosen, measured, and consequently often hold more weight and meaning in a few short sentences than the ramblings of Seth or Sandy.

But at this moment, neither of them can think of the appropriate words to use.

Kirsten stands there, transfixed, watching the scene play out before her, unable to intervene.

Dawn gives one final wave of her hand, mirrored weakly by Ryan's, before she turns and leaves him for good.

And then, in silence, Kirsten is left standing there with Ryan.

A thousand words run through her head but they do not weave themselves into a sentence. She cannot focus enough to form even the most simple of comforting phrases; those words which come to mind are woefully inadequate. How? Why? Can't. Sorry.

And then she looks at him; sees the raw emotion on his face that is rarely, if ever, portrayed to the world. He looks vulnerable, younger than his age, and her heart begins to break.

He looks up at her eyes as if only just realising that she is standing there. And she reads some of the urgent questions that his eyes ask: Why? What? How? Mom?

They are questions she cannot answer and she feels the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes, the aching at the back of her throat as she tries to swallow the lump that presents itself. And she knows that her face can only give the answer of: I don't know. I don't know and I'm sorry.

There is a slight change in his expression and she can see him trying to regain control of his emotions; she takes a deep breath as she observes his struggle to put in place his face of indifference.

Her mothering instinct starts to take over and she wants so desperately to hug him right now, to tell him that everything will be okay. But it won't and his expression and body language tells her to leave him alone.

And then she chokes out the only word she can manage: "Ryan." It is strained, emotional, uncontrolled. It reverberates through the silence. And it seems to shock him to hear his name.

His eyes beg of her the question: what now?

She can see the thoughts running at a thousand miles an hour through his head; a hundred crazy ideas when there is only one obvious answer.

She takes another deep breath, a step forward, a weak smile creeping itself onto her face. I'll make this right, it tells him.

His quizzical expression questions her: really? He tries to force away any notion of hope.

But she walks a step closer, her smile grows slightly stronger, and is accompanied by a brief nod: really.

He looks lost, like a child, desperately in need of mothering. And this time she cannot suppress her urges.

Awkwardly at first, she moves closer, pulls him into a hug; God, how the kid needs it. He stands there, distraught, unyielding in her embrace, but she doesn't pull back. Her hand rubs soothingly across his back.

She is not all those things Dawn attributed to her, but she knows that she must become them; Ryan deserves it.

She pulls back from him, her hand on his arm. "Come live with us," she says quietly, but firmly, sincerely.

A pause and she cannot read this expression.

"Okay," the wavering un-Ryan-like voice replies. And he allows himself to give a slight smile.

---

end part one


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Characters, etc, do not belong to me.

Spoilers: Series 2: The Dearly Beloved

Notes: Many thanks for the lovely reviews for the first part; I really appreciate everyone taking the time to let me know you enjoyed. I only hope that this part lives up to expectations. Reviews are equally appreciated, and please do let me know if you'd like to read more.

In a brief reply to the review from Samala90 and anyone else who is interested, this will remain a mother/son relationship for Ryan and Kirsten; apologies to any who were hoping it would go in a different direction.

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All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.  
**Kahlil Gibran**

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Rehab teaches her a lot about words. Words spoken to strangers about her addiction are increasingly easy. The words "I'm Kirsten and I'm an alcoholic," although awkward initially, now fall off her tongue with the merest effort. They mean less to her the more times they are repeated.

Words spoken to her family retain their value. They are no easier.

Rehab teaches her a lot about words. Rehab is not just about understanding her addiction or about rediscovering how to live without that previously ever-present crutch; it is also about communication, particularly with family.

But it is still easier to tell a stranger how much her words to her family during the intervention still plague her thoughts than it is to tell her family.

"I let you into this house." "I didn't lock you up." "You're overreacting." The words still echo in her head as she closes her eyes, before she goes to sleep, any time her mind is unoccupied. Words she cannot take back. She considers at length how she might begin to make it up to them, to at least explain to them that her fear and her need to protect herself from the truth caused her to lash out and nullify her family's words even before they were spoken. But still she does not know the words to use.

She sees Ryan standing outside the centre, hesitating, before he makes the move to enter. And she is shocked, not only because she was unaware of his intention to visit, but because of the look on his face. He looked as lost as she feels.

By the time he sees her, the mask is back in place, a smile placed on his lips. But his eyes still betray an unknown force of unsettled anger, hurt, fear, sadness.

She wonders why he is here, but she is too glad to see him to question his motives.

She brings him into a warm embrace. "Ryan," she smiles.

"Kirsten," he replies. But his body language says more, it speaks of a need for comfort that she is unused to associating with him.

Eventually she pulls away from him, not wanting to suffocate him with affection.

"How are you?" she asks. A basic enough question but he can read the expression of worry on her face, the thoughts of: what's wrong? What aren't you telling me? How can I help? I missed you.

And, after the last few months where she has been distant, distracted, he finds it a relief that the old Kirsten is still present.

"I'm fine," he replies. The smile becomes sincere. I missed you too, she reads.

And she suddenly sees that he means more than just the last few weeks when she has been in rehab; it means the last few months. And this realisation hits her hard and she steps back, takes a deep breath in.

Her fingers twist the skin where her ring used to sit. Her eyes unwillingly start to fill. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry_, they tell him. She wipes away her tears, gives a slightly embarrassed half laugh.

"Kirsten," he says again. She meets his eyes. And the mixed emotions she saw there before have subsided into concern.

And she shakes her head slightly. Don't worry about me, it tells him.

She exhales slowly, her eyes dropping to the ground. I let you into this house; the words echo in her head and she tries to shake them free. But freedom will only come through apology and forgiveness, not only from Ryan but from herself.

"I…" she starts, and falters. "The intervention…" Her voice cracks. _I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, _it repeats. She brings her eyes up once again to meet his, fearing the hurt and anger and withdrawal.

But all she sees is concern; relief; forgiveness. Ryan already understands her reaction; he understood it at the time. He gives a half smile and pulls her into an unexpected hug. And once again, she feels that this is not just about comforting her, but also about comforting him. And she realises for the first time in a while that he needs so much more than she has been able to give recently. And she knows now that she has to become everything that he has been missing.

"How is everything at home?" she asks when they release.

There is a slight pause. "Fine," he tells her. But she hears the crack in his voice, the flicker of expression on his face of a thousand emotions that he cannot control. He smiles, and this time it is false. "Nothing for you to worry about."

And she knows that it is just the opposite. _I'm worried about you_, he reads.

"I love you," she tells him, and her expression tells him so much more than this, but while he understands, he chooses not burden her with his load.

Rehab teaches her a lot about words. But it tells her nothing of how to get guarded teenagers to communicate with her.

---

End part deux


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I may own series one to three on DVD, but the characters? Not so much.

Spoilers: Series 3: The secrets and lies

Notes: Again, sincere thanks for the reviews; I appreciate them all and really loved receiving them. I hope, again, that this part will be equally as appreciated as the last. Reviews are gratefully received, as always.

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Truth is in things, and not in words.  
**Herman Melville**

**---**

Last night she finally let one of her sons know how much he has helped her over the preceding nine months. He didn't necessarily enjoy the occasion nor appreciate how much he had helped, but finally she had the words to tell him – and the rest of her support group – how she felt. Strangely, it was easier amongst the presence of her AA group to put her thoughts into words.

Ryan has been distracted recently, spending increasingly more time with Sadie. She doesn't have a problem with this – Sadie is good for him – but sometimes she needs time alone with her son.

That morning, she invites Ryan for a walk along the beach. It has been a while since they spent any real time together.

Ryan agrees, surprised, but happy. Happy seems to be Ryan's more default mood recently.

They walk in silence at first; Ryan deep in thought about whatever it is that teenage boys think about: Sadie, she presumes. She keeps her hands deep in her pockets, the fingers of her right hand fiddling with the angular object within, her mind occupied with thoughts of how to express herself through words.

Frowning, she wonders if it would have been easier to take Ryan along to an AA meeting in order to let him know how she feels; but realistically, she knows that it would not have been the right arena for either of them.

"So, how are things with Sadie?" she asks, fumbling for any words to break the silence and which might hopefully lead her to the right words.

He smiles – smiles – self-consciously but says nothing.

Kirsten smiles in response. "That good, eh?"

Ryan gives a half laugh that doesn't really tell her anything. She finds it more difficult to decipher his thoughts in his more permanently elated – for Ryan – state. It seems too uncharacteristic; Seth had even made mention last night of Ryan dancing, something which she can barely imagine.

"I'm glad you're happy," she says.

"Well, it makes a change," Ryan comments, amusedly. His words seem to echo her thoughts.

They walk in silence after this, until Kirsten finds a place to stop and motions to Ryan to sit down on the bench. They watch the ocean for a while; she still does not have the words, and Ryan seems content to be wrapped up in his thoughts.

"I took Seth to a meeting last night," she eventually says, quietly, more to the ocean than to Ryan. Ryan looks at her, but at the moment she avoids his eyes. "I've been sober for nine months and I wanted to let him know that he was the reason that I hadn't had a drink since I went to rehab." She finds the words difficult to say; it is oddly easier if she can pretend that she is talking to a stranger, or the AA group.

She pulls the chip out of her pocket, plays with it nervously for a minute.

Ryan looks at the item questioningly and she finally brings herself to look at him briefly, before her attention returns to the chip. "It's an award of sorts, for staying sober," she explains.

He nods, confused.

"I want you to have it," she says. _I wanted to let you know that it was because of you, too, that I stayed sober. I wanted to let you know how much I love you and appreciate your support;_ he still reads her thoughts with relative ease. She laughs nervously, moves her hair away from her face, anxious, self-conscious. He can see her twisting her rings any moment. "It's silly," she comments, embarrassed, when he doesn't reply. "You don't have to have it."

"I'd like to have it," he eventually says, his words not coming anywhere close to expressing his true feelings. He is in awe of this woman, still, after all these years. _Thank you_, he thinks, along with a multitude of other thoughts.

She looks at him, reads the barely-concealed emotion from his expression, and smiles shyly in return. They communicate better when they don't use words, she thinks. She doesn't know whether this is a positive thing or not; especially after rehab and months of AA meetings, where sharing experiences and feelings through words is the more acceptable method. But, she decides, this way suits them better; he tells her more than a thousand words of thanks and gratitude that he cannot voice with his eyes; her expression mirrors his.

She hands him the chip and he takes it, his fingers briefly meeting with hers.

She puts her arm around him, a gesture of gratitude and love. In response, he hugs her briefly and it is equally as appreciated as her hug from Seth.

And then, they sit in comfortable silence again; Kirsten watching the waves and, out of the corner of her eye, Ryan. Ryan plays with the chip, a look of contentment on his features.

---

End part three


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Characters still belong to people who are not me.

Spoilers: Series 3: The Graduates

Notes: Again, many thanks for the reviews, I really do appreciate them. This is the fourth and potentially final chapter; I do have an idea for a further scene/ficlet, but I'm not so sure about it. We'll see. Anyway, in case it is the final chapter, a sincere thank you for all the lovely reviews; I hope you've enjoyed reading this little series of ficlets as much as I've enjoyed writing them.

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Words, words, mere words, no matter from the heart.  
**William Shakespeare**

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There are no words. Not for this. Not that are in any way meaningful, helpful. No words that are remotely adequate. Even Seth drops into silence and her oft longed-for quiet is a despised companion. Despair blankets them all, envelops them in a dark and suffocating cocoon.

The words her mind conjures up at this moment are half-finished thoughts that course through her brain in incoherent confusion. _Not Ryan. Oh God. Marissa._ _Can't breathe. Julie. Not Ryan. Blood. Seth. Sandy. What now? Ryan. Marissa. Oh God._

Even if Ryan hadn't closed his eyes, he would be paying little attention to his surroundings. He would not see the despair, relief, guilt, pain, anger, and myriad other emotions that cross her features.

He is numb, unresponsive to any outside influence, his face giving away nothing of his pain.

She has sat by his hospital bed for over half an hour now in silence. At first, she tried speaking, but the words wouldn't come out beyond a half-cry of "Ryan." Every other thought that came into her head at this time – _thank God you're okay; I love you; I'm sorry; we'll get through this; thank God you're okay _– seemed… insufficient. She cried after this, gasping sobs that would not be quelled for a long while even by Sandy's attempts at comfort.

Ryan responded to nothing. Not Seth. Not Sandy. Not Summer.

They don't know what happened beyond what the police have informed them. Whether Ryan will tell of more, she doesn't know. She doubts it.

For now he remains in a catatonic state and she almost loathes the fact that he will have to return to reality at some point.

She reaches out a hand to him, her fingers lingering on his cuts as they trail slowly, softly down his arm, across his forehead, comforting. _I love you_, they whisper. _I'm glad you're okay. I'm sorry about Marissa. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I'm sorry that I can't stop the hurt._

She looks over at Sandy, who sits beside her, one hand in hers, the other holding Ryan's. His eyes red; his emotions mirroring hers.

She holds back a sob; it is overwhelming all of this and yet she must somehow remain strong.

Her gaze is averted rapidly back towards Ryan as his eyelids flicker. And then, they open. He looks at her for the briefest of moments. Their eyes meet fleetingly and she literally takes in a sharp breath as she sees the depths of his despair, anger, self-loathing, hurt, fear in that short second. He blames himself, she thinks, achingly. Ryan closes his eyes again, and her fingers reach to his arm again, but he pulls away, withdrawing into himself, tensing all the muscles in his body. He rolls over onto his side, facing away from them.

Her emotions threaten to overcome her, but Sandy's hand, gripping hers, anchors her.

She does not know what to do and instinct takes over. Her hand, unable to break contact with her son for long, reaches out again, moves to his back, rubs up and down soothingly. She moves herself to sit on the side of his bed, nearer to him. She cannot let him go, not now, not after all this time. He is part of her family, and she will always fight fiercely for her family.

He doesn't relax any for this comfort, but, with an encouraging look from Sandy, she continues despite this. She leans in close to him, and uses words where gestures refuse to be acknowledged.

"We're here for you Ryan," she tells him quietly. "We love you."

And somewhere, deep down in some barely known and forgotten place, he hears her.

---

Fini


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